


The Book of John

by parapraxis



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/pseuds/parapraxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Mulcahy's spirit is renewed by an unlikely source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Book of John

_January 3rd, 1951_

_Dear Sis,_

_Happy New Year._

_Forgive me for not writing sooner, but for almost a week now I've been up to my elbows in frozen bodies. Soldiers have been pouring into the camp by the bus full. The North Koreans broke the Christmas truce, and the fighting hasn't stopped since. I can't even remember the last time I got more than a moment of sleep. Each soldier that dies—each young boy whom I give his last rites—is a mark on my soul. It is all so senseless. The hatred amongst these people runs so deep that this civil war will never end, even long after we are gone. It is in times like these that I yearn for comfort; someone to simply lean on. It gets harder every day, sis. Sometimes I forget what my purpose is here. The suffering of those whom I serve here far outweighs my own, and yet in the stillness of the night I can only weep for my own sorrows._

"Father. Father Mulcahy?"

I vaguely heard my name being called. The voice seemed to ebb in at the edge of my consciousness, making me feel as though I were in a dream sequence, drifting somewhere between sleep and alertness.

"Mm?"

"Wake up, Father." A hand landed on my shoulder, trying to gently rouse me, but the sudden contact practically made me jump out of my skin.

"Huh! What?" I looked around, disoriented by my brief slumber and saw that I was sitting in the mess tent and that Hawkeye Pierce was leaning across the table with his hand still on my shoulder. His tired eyes were soft and kind.

"Why don't you go get some sleep, Father. It seems like we'll get a little peace and quiet now."

"Oh." I looked down and noticed the unfinished letter to my sister still sitting in front of me on the table. "Yes…I dare say I could use a little shut eye."

"Don't worry, Father, I'll tell them to keep the war down for you."

I stared up at the man across from me in awe. It was only hours earlier that I'd helped him in the OR after sheer exhaustion had claimed several of the nurses. Even with the numerous bodies stacked up in pre-op, and days of fatigue setting in, Hawkeye was kind and patient with me as I fumbled around the instrument tray. It's a wonder that boy made it through surgery… "Thank you, Hawkeye."

He looked at me strangely, and for a minute even I wasn't sure exactly what I was thanking him for. He simply shook his head and straightened up. "Come on, Father, I'll walk you home."

Pulling our coats and scarves tightly around us, we stepped out of the mess tent and into the bitter brisk winter wind. Snow flurries were swirling about, reminding us just how cold it was. Suddenly, a lonely tent didn't sound too appealing, but I strode beside Hawkeye until we reached my door. He wordlessly followed me in, no doubt wanting a moment of warmth before he returned to his own bunk.

"You know, winter in Korea reminds me of so many things…none of them good." Hawkeye quipped, his tongue never too tired for a quick gibe.

I offered a tired chuckle as I held my hands over the little stove heater for warmth and yawned.

"Go to bed, Father. You've worked harder than any of us."

"Hawkeye," I started as he turned to walk out the door. He paused and looked at me. "You don't always have to call me 'Father' you know."

"I'm sorry, Father, it's just habit." He smirked a little and I couldn't help but give him a little grin. "What would you rather be called?"

"Just John." I heaved a sigh and looked at my chapped hands warming above the heater. "Sometimes I just want to be John."

Whether or not he understood the double meaning, Hawkeye took a few steps towards me and pulled me into a hug. His long arms easily enveloped me, encasing my entire upper body in warmth and security. His stature made it impossible for me to place my head anywhere but his shoulder. My need for comfort, for touch, far outweighed my sleep deprived judgment and I found myself clinging to him, trying to bleed him of the solace I so desperately needed, like a leech.

Though the embrace was purely platonic, I know I should have pulled back immediately. Priests are the ones who are suppose to provide the comfort to others, not the other way around.

Still…we are only human.

"You know, John," Hawkeye said emphatically. "I wish I had your strength. It's takes so much to bring you down."

"To be honest, Hawkeye, it takes a lot less than you think. I just don't have the luxury of falling apart."

I felt his arms tighten even more around me before he carefully pulled back. "If that's true, then you're stronger than even you think. I think the fact that you haven't cracked has kept the rest of us from taking a permanent vacation in the mine field. You're the only symbol of goodness in this Hell."

"Thank you, Hawkeye."

"Goodnight, Father—John." He corrected, grinning again. "See, it's just ingrained now."

I laughed softly and gave a short wave as he ducked back out into the cold winter night. Looking down at the letter in my hands, I sat at my small desk and found a pen, eager to continue my letter.

_But, you know, Sis, every once in a while someone comes along and says something simple to me that has a very profound impact and it gives me the strength to go on. If my mere presence can act as an inspiration, a hope to others, then let me be a beckon of light unto them. Let the love of God shine through me._

_Now if only I could stop the fighting…_

_Hopeful,  
John_


End file.
